Here Be Dragons
by Firebird9
Summary: Whilst in Hot Pursuit of a killer, Phryne and Jack stumble through the library at Melbourne University into a very different Library altogether. Crossover with DiscWorld, but I don't think we have a Crossover category just yet, and it seems silly to create one just for this.
1. Chapter 1

**Here Be Dragons**

**(A Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries/DiscWorld crossover)**

**Author: **Firebird9

**Rating: **T (language)

_I originally started this fic for FoxFireside, and promptly saw it derail before suffering a crippling bout of writer's block that left it languishing on my computer for several months. But it's finally done, and here it is. FoxFireside, I hope you approve._

* * *

"Down here, Jack!" Phryne grabbed his arm and pulled him after her along the narrow passageway between the shelves. How she could see more than the vague outline of the library in the near-total darkness of 3a.m. was beyond him, but he didn't argue. Bentley Carruthers was crazy, dangerous, and had to be stopped.

He had long ago lost track of their exact location as Phryne led them deeper between the shelves of the university library, but finally she stopped, panting slightly, and dropped his wrist. Without thinking he reached out to grab her sleeve instead, wary of being separated in the near-total darkness. He looked around, but still couldn't pinpoint their location. The stacks seemed to stretch away endlessly, not only before and behind them, but above as well. He was sure the shelves hadn't seemed so high when they were here earlier in the day. He strained his ears, but could hear nothing beyond their own slightly laboured breathing.

"Do you have any idea where he is?" he whispered to Phryne. Her only answer was a shake of her head. "Right. Do you have any idea where we are?"

Even in this dim light, he knew the look she was giving him for that comment, and in spite of their situation he felt his lips curve into a smile. There was nothing quite like the opportunity to irritate Phryne for lifting his mood.

There was a sudden sound in the shelves above them and they both jumped and moved slightly closer together. Jack dropped her sleeve and instead cautiously aimed his gun in the direction he thought the noise had come from, knowing that Phryne was doing the same. There was another sound, from another angle, and they both adjusted their aim in response.

Suddenly a light shone full in their faces, blinding them both.

"Ook?"

...

"Well, they don't appear to be creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions, which is a pleasant change," Archchancellor Ridcully of Unseen University remarked, after walking around Jack and Phryne two or three times in an unselfconscious examination which left both of them feeling rather self-conscious. "Clearly, it's because of quantum,"

"I see. And that is what, exactly?" Jack asked, after exchanging a glance with Phryne.

"Well, it's the fabric of reality, the answer to the mysteries of the universe. It's what makes everything happen when and where it should. Except when it doesn't."

"Mm. So you don't really know, then?"

"Well, L-space-"

"Creates a magical connection between your library and all other libraries, everywhere, through which we have somehow managed to stumble from our world into yours."

"That's correct."

"Which is called the Discworld and is round and flat and travels through space on the backs of four elephants which are in turn standing on the back of a giant turtle."

"Correct."

"Named the Great A'tuin."

"Right."

"I see." He leaned closer to Phryne and spoke in a low voice. "Is it possible these gentlemen have been indulging in some of your cousin's special fudge?"

"That, or they're simply mad. Academic types, Jack."

"Or perhaps I've suffered a blow to the head, and this is all a particularly vivid hallucination?"

"Which I've found myself sharing?"

"Miss Fisher, the alternative is that they're telling the truth."

"Well of course we are. What possible reason would we have to lie?" the Archchancellor interjected.

"Perhaps you're in cahoots with Carruthers."

"That's ridiculous. And who's this Carruthers fellow?"

"The man we were following, whose trail we appear to have lost. Perhaps you'd like to show us the way back to whatever part of the library we wandered in from, and we can endeavour to pick it back up."

There was a pause.

"That... might be a little difficult," the nervous man in the grubby robe who had introduced himself as Rincewind said hesitantly.

"You do know how to get us back to Melbourne, don't you?" Phryne, who had decided to humour their madness whilst trying very hard not to think about the possible implications if in fact they weren't mad, asked hesitantly.

There was another pause, as the Archchancellor frowned slightly. "Not as such, no. But I'm sure some of our young fellows in the High-Energy Magic Building-"

"OOK!"

"He says there's no way in hell he's having those young idiots messing around in the Library, sir. Sorry, sir, but he's quite definite on that point," Rincewind interpreted.

"You got all of that from 'Ook'?" Phryne asked, in a tone that suggested that Jack would soon have her curiosity to contend with on top of everything else.

"Yes, miss. It's something of a knack, miss."

Jack sighed. "Look, however we ended up here, we were pursuing a killer at the time. And while we're wasting time trying to figure out exactly how we came to be here – wherever 'here' is – he's God knows where, doing God knows what."

"A killer, you say? Well, that sounds like a matter for the Watch. Rincewind, be a good fellow and send one of the bledlows to summon Commander Vimes for me."

"It's the middle of the night, sir."

"I don't bloody care. If it's a killer they're after then it's probably a matter for Vimes. Or the Assassin's Guild, I suppose, but if so Vimes can sort it out."

"I'm sorry, the _what_ Guild?"

"Ook."

Phryne frowned and leaned closer to the Librarian. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch..."

"OOK! Ook-ook. Eek. Ook."

"I see." She smiled brightly at Jack, and he was pleased to see that even she seemed slightly bemused by the current course of events. "According to the Librarian, their – mayor? I'm not quite sure on that one – says that if there's going to be crime it might as well be organised."

...

Jack would recognise a fellow policeman anywhere. He might have the rumpled, grumpy air of a man pulled recently and unexpectedly from his bed, he might be dressed in battered armour rather than a blue uniform or a suit, he might have a foul-smelling cigarette hanging from his lip, but he was beyond doubt a policeman, and Jack latched onto that thought as the first glimpse of sanity he had had since the light shining in their eyes had been replaced by the sight of an orang-utan and a man in a crumpled pointy hat with the word 'wizzard' on it.

"Commander, I apologise for disturbing you in the middle of the night, but these gentlemen assure me that you needed to be informed immediately of our situation."

"No need to apologise. You were in hot pursuit. These things happen." He turned to the orang-utan. "Do we know whether this Carruthers character came out in the Library?"

"Ook."

"Hmm. So what prompted you to venture into the stacks?"

"Ook oo-ook."

"And is there any way to return them to wherever it is they came from?"

"Ook."

"Right." The Commander turned to Jack and Phryne. "While they're working on that, I'll have the two of you accompany me to the Watch-House."

"For what purpose?"

Vimes narrowed his eyes. Trust a copper not to trust a copper. "For the moment, let's just say you're assisting me with my enquiries. And most definitely not being placed in protective custody, even though I personally feel that anyone mad enough to venture into that library probably should be." He gestured towards the door. "Shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

_No, I'm not going back on my word; this fic is already finished (I'm just being mean by dishing it out in installments). Thank you to the people who took the time to review, and my apologies if your favourite character/s fail to appear: the Discworld comprises dozens of books with a Cast of Thousands, and I've only managed to include a handful. _

* * *

After a brisk walk through a city which appeared remarkably lively for that time of night, and remarkably pungent for any time of day, they arrived at the Watch House. A – well, Jack wasn't certain exactly what it was, although the phrase 'circus freak' suggested itself – who couldn't have been more than four feet tall, and which had pink ribbons incongruously braided into its considerable beard, nodded to them from behind what was clearly the reception desk and was instructed to bring them tea in Vimes' office.

Vimes dumped a pile of paperwork unceremoniously from a chair by the door onto the floor, placed the chair by a second seat on one side of his paper-strewn desk, gestured for them both to be seated, then positioned himself opposite them. For a long moment he regarded his two visitors in thought. The woman was easy enough. She was young, beautiful, and clearly wealthy and intelligent, with an indefinable air of command that reminded him of Sybil – in a word, trouble. Her companion, the policeman, was more difficult. For one thing, he was quieter. Whilst the woman had asked endless questions as they walked through the city he had hardly said a word, although Vimes got the distinct impression that he hadn't missed a word of his lady-friend's chatter, or Vimes' answers, or anything else he had seen or heard. He didn't appear rich, although his strange outfit _could_ have been how noblemen dressed in this 'Melbourne' place (and oh, what would Vimes give to live in a place where noblemen wore sensible trousers and jackets rather than ridiculous burnished armour and plumed helmets? Although he could have done without the strange noose/leash thing around the man's neck that he kept half-expecting to see the woman grab him by. Perhaps men were regarded as pets in her world?), and his attitude mingled wariness with deference. A man used to both giving and taking orders, Vimes thought, but a man who had received his share of bad orders too.

"So," he began. "You stumbled from a library in your world into the Library at Unseen University via L-space whilst in hot pursuit of a murderer."

"Yes, sir," Robinson replied.

"What can you tell me about him?"

"His name is Bentley Carruthers," the woman – Miss Fisher – began. "He's forty-one years old, and lost his wife a few years ago. No children. Five-ten, dark hair going thin on top, light complexion. He's abducted and murdered four women – that we're aware of – as part of some kind of 'magic ritual'."

She said that last with enough contempt that Vimes' mental ears pricked up.

"The man's a wizard?"

"He believes he's a sorcerer," Robinson replied, in that same contemptuous tone. Now Vimes' mental eyebrows rose as well. Were these two strangers completely unconcerned by the threat posed by a rogue wizard? They certainly couldn't be ignorant of the danger. Could they?

"And is he?"

Jack blinked in surprise at the question. "No, of course not. He's just a lunatic who thinks that scrawling circles on the ground in chalk and then butchering innocent women inside them will allow him to access... other... worlds..." He trailed off, as his mind caught up with the words he had just spoken.

"How do you define 'sorcerer'?" Phryne asked in the space Jack's silence had made.

"A wizard squared. The eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son. Unbelievably powerful, and usually completely insane."

"And they really can do magic?"

"Oh yes."

Jack and Phryne looked at one another. This was unexpected. Both their minds rebelled at the very idea of someone actually using magic – real magic, not some stage-show deception – to do anything, let alone whisk them away to another world. And yet, here they were.

"We have to stop him," Phryne said. "And if murder is what it will take to send us home..."

"Then we can't go back," Jack finished for her.

Vimes looked from one to the other, seeing the shock and loss on their faces, and for the first time felt a grudging respect nudging out his annoyance at being dragged away from his bed in the middle of the night – again. Clearly, these were good people (at least, he thought, remembering the Gonnes, for a given value of good). "I wouldn't worry about it," he told them. "The Librarian's confident he can get you home, and I can assure you it won't involve killing anyone."

The two exchanged another look. "I don't mean to be rude," Miss Fisher began, in the way that people do when they're about to be rude, "but you are aware that that librarian is, in fact, an orang-utan?"

"Ah, yes," Vimes reassured her. "I can see how you might be puzzled by that. Truth is, he used to be a wizard. Bit of an accident, apparently, and, well, these things happen. And since he's made it quite clear that he's happier in his current form... anyway, he knows what he's talking about. I wouldn't trust the rest of them as far as I can throw them, but if the Librarian says he can get you home then you can take his word for it."

He saw them relax, and Robinson gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you."

Vimes nodded in return. "I'll have Cheery circulate a description of your Carruthers fellow. Then we might as well head home." At their raised eyebrows he sighed. "I'm not sure how things work where you come from, but around here we're not in the habit of sticking innocent people in the cells, and I'm assuming you don't have anywhere else to stay."

...

Half an hour later the three of them arrived on foot outside an impressively large house.

"Well," Phryne exclaimed, impressed.

The Commander's lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "Yes, I married well. Come on in."

"Sir," a butler greeted them as they walked through the door.

"Willikins, don't you ever sleep?"

"Only when I've no other duties to attend to, sir. I see you've arrived with company; I'll prepare a late supper, and shall I make up a guest bedroom?"

"Two bedrooms, please," Jack interjected, knowing perfectly well that Phryne wouldn't. He didn't need to look at her to know that she was smirking.

"As you wish, sir. Two bedrooms."

Their host, they noticed, drank tea, although he offered them something stronger. Jack refused and, after a moment, Phryne did as well. There was something about the idea of drinking whiskey that was not Phryne's whiskey whilst sitting in this very fine parlour that was most definitely not Phryne's very fine parlour that they both found subtly disturbing. The room had an indefinable air of neglect that could have suggested financial troubles – or the kind of very, very old money that simply hasn't noticed that the room that was à la mode a hundred years ago now needs updating. After a brief supper they were shown to two similarly fine-yet-shabby bedrooms where washstands and nightclothes that didn't exactly fit had been made available. The Commander, by the look of him, intended simply to doze in the parlour until breakfast time, but had told them to sleep as long as they needed.

In the silence of her room Phryne washed, dressed in a nightdress that managed to be more or less her size in spite of being made of roughly three times the amount of material that she normally preferred, and sat down on the edge of the impressively large four-poster bed. Had she been a religious woman, she would have prayed. As it was, after a moment she rose and sought the only familiar source of reassurance available to her.

"Come in," Jack called at once as she tapped on his door. He had been half-expecting her, and debating whether or not to go to her room if she didn't come. That she shut the door behind her might, at any other time, have made him nervous. Tonight, it had the opposite effect. For all he had been the one to request separate rooms, he had been reconsidering the wisdom of allowing himself to be separated from her in this unknown and extremely strange place. After all, he could always have slept on the floor.

"This is... mad," she told him, pacing restlessly.

"I agree," he replied at once.

"What if we never get home?"

"You heard what Commander Vimes said. He doesn't strike me as the dishonest type. If he says they'll get us home, they'll get us home."

She paused and gave him a tight smile. "I hope you're right Jack. Apart from anything else, this place smells appalling."

"Lack of proper sanitation, probably."

She shook her head. "The rest of the city, maybe. But there's something more here as well. Haven't you noticed? It's like," she paused and sniffed, considering. "Sulphur."

He took a deep breath through his nose. "Mmm, so it is." He sighed and sat down on the bed. "One more mystery. To go with 'what the hell is this place?' and 'where the hell is Carruthers?'"

That made her laugh slightly, and she turned towards the door. "I'll let you sleep," she said. "Goodnight, Jack."

He nodded tired thanks. "Good night, Miss Fisher."


	3. Chapter 3

Long after his guests had been shown to their beds, Sam Vimes sat staring at the fireplace, yet another cup of tea in his hands. He desperately wanted something stronger, but then, he always desperately wanted something stronger, and that was why he could never have it. The two strangers seemed, well, strange, but not dangerous, or Sam would never have let them into his house, close to Sybil and Young Sam. But still...

... there were the Gonnes. Two of them, which was even more disturbing. The Archchancellor didn't know about them: the Librarian had passed them surreptitiously to Sam with a hurried explanation that they had been removed from the possession of the visitors as soon as they were apprehended. Two Gonnes, a His & Hers set, the one plain, dark, businesslike, the other shiny, attractive, but every bit as deadly. He had brought them home and passed them to Willikins to place in the safe here. The last thing he needed was Colon or, gods forbid, Nobby, finding them in the safe at the watch house.

As yet the Gonnes were holding their peace, but he wasn't sure how long he could count on that. The Beast had stirred in recognition at the sight of them, and though Sam had reached some degree of accommodation with the Darkness within, he wasn't keen to find out which side it would take once the Gonnes started whispering to him. What sort of people were these, he wondered, to travel armed in such a manner?

He dozed restlessly until enough light filtered through the curtains to be called 'morning', then went in search of a strong coffee and a **bacon**, lettuce and tomato sandwich (what Sybil didn't know wouldn't hurt her) before heading back to Unseen University.

...

By the time Jack and Phryne were roused from their beds by Willikins' discreet tapping and made their way to the breakfast table, their host was long gone. His wife, however, was seated before a large table spread with enough food to make Phryne's eyes light up, whilst Jack's stomach informed him audibly that it wouldn't mind having some of that either, please. After exchanging the obligatory pleasantries they both helped themselves to bacon, eggs, sausages, toast, and enough tea (Jack) or coffee (Phryne) to ensure that they would be unlikely to sleep again before midnight.

Their hostess was a large woman Of A Certain Age; not fat, but simply unapologetically tall and big-boned, with the cheerfully loud, well-bred voice to match. She was dressed in no-nonsense tweed which, like many of the household furnishings, looked as though it had been around for a long while and intended to be around for a good while longer yet.

"I'm sure Sam will send for you when he has news," Lady Sybil Ramkin told them, "but in the meantime I'll give you a tour of the household. I can't wait for you to see the dragons."

"Dragons?" Jack choked slightly on his tea, although he supposed that with everything else they had encountered in the last twelve hours he might almost have expected them.

Happily, his spluttering was drowned out by Phryne's enthusiastic "how fascinating!" and Jack just knew he was going to be meeting dragons sooner rather than later.

"You don't have them in your world? I've been breeding them for years – not that they're the most amorous of creatures in the general scheme of things. Of course, mine are only common swamp dragons. The true dragons have been gone for years... thank goodness."

"Thank goodness?"

"Well, they're rather large, and regrettably prone to destroying everything in their path. Not to mention having a taste for virgins." The good lady's tone was matter-of-fact, but her cheeks coloured slightly. "That's how Sam and I met, actually." Her eyes misted and her smile grew fond at the memory. "He rescued me from the jaws of death... And of course, you must meet Young Sam."

"Young Sam?" Jack asked.

"Our son." And now their hostess smiled with a mother's pride. "He's in his schoolroom already, but I'm sure his education will only benefit from having the opportunity to meet visitors from another world. Tell me, do you poo?"

For the second time that morning Jack spluttered, and this time there was no Phryne to rescue him (at the mention of a child she had partially tuned out the conversation, and was happily contemplating the prospects of a fourth sausage with some more of that rather delectable brown sauce.) "Poo?" he managed, eventually.

To his relief, Lady Ramkin was blushing again too. "Yes. I know it's embarrassing, but it's the first thing he's likely to ask about. Boys, you know. Tell me, do you have any children of your own?"

The question was directed at Phryne, who was now blissfully chewing on a mouthful of well-seasoned meat, and Jack nudged her under the table with his foot. She gave him an impatient look for the interruption, but did also give a slight shake of her head to Lady Ramkin in order to answer the question.

"My former wife and I were never blessed," Jack ventured slightly awkwardly into what was usually a more feminine conversational direction. "Miss Fisher has no children of her own, although she does have a ward, Jane."

"Who can hardly be considered a child." Having finished her mouthful, Phryne re-entered the conversation. "She's fifteen and studying abroad."

"Oh, how marvellous. Well, if you've finished eating..."

The protective gear which Lady Ramkin encouraged them to don was hot, heavy, and uncomfortable, but Jack stopped noticing as soon as they entered the stable. The faint but pervasive chemical smell which Phryne had commented on the night before suddenly became overwhelming, and he choked slightly, eyes stinging.

"Sorry," Lady Ramkin commented airily. "One does become accustomed to it, after a while."

The dragons, they both had to admit, weren't exactly what they had imagined. No larger than a pet dog, they were stumpy, ungainly and, according to their hostess, prone to exploding when startled or over-excited. Jack was just beginning to wonder how much interest it was appropriate for a grown man to show in meeting a young, poo-loving child when they were interrupted by the arrival of the butler.

"Constables Visit and Shoe are here to escort our visitors to the Commander at Unseen Univeristy," he announced from the relative safety of the doorway.

"Blast." Sybil broke off from extolling the virtues of a slightly cross-eyed specimen. "Well, I suppose you'll just have to meet Young Sam another time. Show them out, Willikins?" And with that she turned her attention back to her sulphurous charges.

...

"Constable... Visit?" Jack's tone managed to make the name a question as he greeted the armoured watchman on the doorstep. He was sure the butler had mentioned two, but this was the only one he could see.

"It's short for 'Visit-The-Infidel-With-Explanatory-Pamphlets'," said a voice, and a second figure resolved itself from where it had been blending in almost exactly with the grey stone wall and green ivy. There was a sudden distinctive whiff of formaldehyde and, beneath it, an even more distinctive whiff of corruption as a grey-skinned figure that seemed to be held together with a combination of bandages, staples, stitching and tape came to something resembling attention before them. "He's an Omnian."

"I see," Jack said slowly. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. This is the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher."

"Forgive me," Phryne began beside him, speaking to the grey figure who was, presumably, Constable Shoe. "But are you quite well?"

"Never better, miss," the watchman smiled with brown-grey teeth. "Life begins at death, I always say. Anyone who says otherwise just isn't trying hard enough. Come on. Mustn't keep Mister Vimes waiting."


	4. Chapter 4

_This is the last chapter, and I now feel a little guilty about that, given the response this fic has had! When I first started writing it the second chapter ended with Jack and Phryne irreversibly trapped in the Discworld, and, after a certain amount of angst and providing each other with (ahem!) consolation, they would have started working for the City Watch, taken a room together, and generally built a new life for themselves, only to find themselves back in Melbourne a year or so later and having to account for what would appear to outside observers to be either their mysterious disappearance and reappearance or an overnight change in their relationship. But that seemed like a downer and a pain to write, so instead I give you the last chapter and invite you to contemplate your own alternative endings. Also, if you aren't a Discworld fan, consider this fic an open invitation to engage with one of the best comic fantasy series around!_

* * *

The two constables led them through a maze of streets broad, narrow and everything in between, past vendors hawking their wares, a variety of coughing, muttering and stinking beggars, and giant people who seemed to be made entirely of stone until, in a surprisingly short space of time, they were once again standing outside Unseen University.

"Thank you, constables, we'll escort them from here." A man who appeared to be made entirely of bronzed muscle topped – very high up – by a shock of red hair was suddenly standing in front of them. Beside Jack, Phryne drew a deep and thoroughly appreciative breath.

"Well," she remarked, in a tone which mingled admiration with amorous calculation in a way that made Jack close his eyes in despair. Please, he thought, not this. Not on top of everything else. He was shaken from his introspection by another female voice.

"Well," the voice replied in far brisker tones, and Jack opened his eyes to see a blonde woman in a breastplate – yes, most definitely a _breast_plate, his mind registered before he directed his gaze swiftly towards some fascinating cornices (and was he imagining it or had that gargoyle just winked at him?) – regarding Phryne from where she had suddenly materialised beside the well-muscled man, one hand resting on his arm in a manner which Jack could only think of as possessive. She was smiling at Phryne in a friendly manner, but Jack couldn't help but think that there was just _slightly_ too much tooth in that smile.

Whether it was the unnerving smile or the possessive touch, Phryne changed tack abruptly, extending her hand to the blonde. "Phryne Fisher, lady detective. This is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson."

"Captain Angua, Ankh Morpork City Watch. This is Captain Carrot. The Commander's waiting for you in the Library."

The two Captains moved to flank them, and Jack and Phryne exchanged uneasy looks. This could be an honour guard, or it could simply be a guard, in which case the question became were they the ones under guard, or were they being guarded? And if so, from what?

Guard or escort, Angua and Carrot both stopped abruptly at the threshold of the Library.

"Mr. Rincewind will take you from here," Carrot told them, handing them over to the scrawny, crumpled-looking man who had been one of their first acquaintances in this strange new world.

"This way," Rincewind gestured nervously, and led them towards the stacks. Looking back, Phryne noticed that Carrot and Angua had now turned and were facing outwards down the hallway. They were the ones being guarded, then, and she wondered briefly whether they were being guarded from anything in particular, or from this insane world in general. Wizards, dragons, zombies... it was fascinating, but at the same time (although she would never allow anyone to notice, of course) decidedly overwhelming. She shook her thoughts away and focussed her attention on the shelves ahead of them. Anyone venturing in there should be locked up for their own protection, the Commander had said, and she suddenly wondered where her gun had ended up.

Evidently Jack was thinking the same thing. "Do you still have your dagger, at least?" he murmured, hoping his voice was too low to be heard, and she nodded silently in response. Any weapon was better than nothing, after all.

The area through which they now travelled seemed somehow shadowy, narrower, and altogether more hostile than a library had any right to be, and perhaps it was only their imaginations, but it seemed as though the books stirred restlessly on their shelves as the visitors walked by, whispering foul words in wicked and unknown tongues. Forget _Lady Chatterley's Lover_, Jack thought grimly, these books really were obscene and indecent publications, uncanny things which should not, by rights, exist.

Suddenly another kind of obscenity materialised before them as they entered what could best be described as a clearing and saw Commander Vimes, Archchancellor Ridcully and the Librarian standing around the mortal remains of Bentley Carruthers. For a moment Jack thought he saw another figure standing by the body, tall and thin and dressed in a black, hooded robe, but it faded in an instant and he decided it had only been a trick of the light.

"Oh, marvellous," Phryne exclaimed as though the object of their pursuit had done this as a final personal affront to them. "Now I suppose we're going to have to carry him all the way back to Melbourne."

Jack said nothing but instead ventured closer to the body and the fourth, unknown, and very solid person who was busy examining it. At first glance the person bore a distinct resemblance to Constable Shoe, for he too smelled strongly of formaldehyde and his skin was also marked with long lines of stitches, but unlike Shoe he was a relatively healthy colour and there was no odour of death. Jack had no idea what this creature was – a situation with which he was becoming alarmingly familiar – but it was obvious what he was doing.

"Any idea as to cause of death?" Jack asked.

"Thuithide, thir," came the medical examiner's prompt reply.

"Thui-" Jack cleared his throat. "Suicide?"

"Yeth, thir. These are the Forbidden bookth, thir. Coming here wath thuithide. But, if you prefer, hith heart thtopped due to extreme fear."

"Frightened to death?" Phryne asked.

"It appearth tho, mith."

"Which not only solves the mystery of your killer's whereabouts, but also, according to these gentlemen, means they can send you home post-haste," the Commander added.

"Ahem, that's correct," the Archchancellor confirmed. "Whilst I must emphasise that ritual blood-magic has no place in modern and forward-thinking wizardry, the death of a corrupt man who spilled the blood of innocent women provides a most convenient starting-point to sending you back where you came from."

"Ook," added the Librarian, and then, in a confidential tone to the Commander, "ook?"

"Oh, yes." Vimes reached into a pocket and, to Jack and Phryne's immense relief, pulled out their guns. "You'd better take these away with you. So far they've been no trouble, but I'd rather it stayed that way."

It was a slightly odd comment, to go with all the other slightly odd things they had experienced since finding themselves in this place, but the two accepted their weapons back and holstered them (Jack) or tucked them in their pocket (Phryne) with relief. Jack then hoisted Carruthers with his hands beneath his shoulders and nodded for Phryne to take his ankles, facing away from him so that she would not have to walk backwards. He hoped this wouldn't take long.

"Well?" he prompted, turning to the Archchancellor.

"What? Oh, yes, very good then. Right, all the two of you have to do is tap your heels together three times and say 'there's no place like home', then just start walking."

Jack raised a slightly self-conscious eyebrow at Phryne, who glanced over her shoulder at him and shrugged, and they complied. Phryne led the way, and after a few steps they heard the Archchancellor's voice behind them again, sounding strangely distant. "Second shelf to the right, and straight on 'til morning."

It sounded vaguely familiar, and as they turned obediently at the second bookshelf they could see warm, inviting daylight ahead of them, and the air smelled somehow both cleaner and more familiar, and they had time only for a quick glance back at what turned out to be no more than a wall covered with bookcases before they found themselves standing once again in the middle of the Melbourne University library, in the sunshine of a perfectly ordinary morning.

"Well." said Phryne. And that, it seemed, was really all there was to be said.


End file.
